The Weird Life and Love of Alfred F Jones
by Shareq
Summary: Human AU. Alfred F. Jones is a 22 year old mechanic sharing an apartment with his best friend, Arthur. Sounds great, right? Not right. Because Alfred also happens to be in love with Arthur... not that Arthur knows.
1. Prologue

You know, life is weird sometimes.

You might be saying, __Well, yeah, duh, __but geez, kind of rude of you to interrupt! At least let me give you my reason first.

See, I grew up with this guy named Arthur Kirkland. We've been best friends pretty much since we were born, because our parents were pals. We went to daycare, preschool, regular school and all that together (except for, like, two months when we were fighting in eighth grade and didn't talk to each other; that sucked). I know him like I know myself, and I'm sure he knows me just about as well.

Fine so far, right? Nothing weird about having a best friend. Weird part is: around about the middle part of our tenth grade year, I started noticing that, wow, Arthur sure is sort of hot, isn't he?

__That __is a weird thought to have about your best friend, I don't care who you are. Doubly weird since I was pretty much exclusively into girls back then. So for a couple years, there I was with this gigantic crush on Artie (which is what I call him, even though he pretends to hate it), but nothing really changed because it was easy to hide from everyone. Well, except my bro Matthew, but seriously, how are you supposed to keep anything from a guy you share a room with?

After graduation we went to different places for school. Artie went to some big-wig university in England, where he was born, and I stayed in the States to follow in my dad's footsteps and become a mechanic. We still talked a lot, on the phone and through IM, but I guess my crush did fade a little and I figured liking him "like that" was a phase.

Okay, so fast forward a few years and we're both ready to set out on our own and get jobs and stuff. Artie decided to come back to the States and said, "Hey, wouldn't it be a great idea if we lived together for a while, to make paying bills easier?" And I was like, "Yeah, totally!"

But when I went to pick him up at the airport the day he got back, which was about a month ago, it was like _**_**WHAM! **_**_That little crush that I thought was history? It came back. With a vengeance. It was like the Batman of crushes.

He didn't really look all that different. Maybe he was a little less skinny than senior year, but that was it. His hair was still blond and messy, his eyes were still green, his eyebrows were still... his eyebrows. But something about seeing him after all that time, standing there with one hand on his suitcase handle and the other on his hip, tapping his foot impatiently, just... I don't know, left me breathless? Dumb as that sounds.

It didn't take all that long after picking him up and helping him get settled into the two-bedroom apartment we were renting to come the conclusion that I had it for him. Bad.

You can see how this is kind of a problem, right? No? Okay, then let me spell it out for you: Me and Artie, we share a tiny, tiny apartment. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchenette and this one miscellaneous room that kind of doubles as a living room and study. That's not a lot of space for two people, which means that when the both of us are home, we tend to be in close proximity. __Close __proximity. Plus, our schedules match up so that we both have free time at the same time. (I'm usually at the garage from 10 to 6, and he's still looking for a job, sooooo...)

Point being, we end up spending a whole bunch of time together, which I don't hate or anything. Except when he's in a pissy mood, hanging out with Artie is awesome. We wouldn't have been friends for years and years if it wasnt.

__But Alfred__, you might be asking. __If you like spending time with him, what's the problem?__

Fair question. Answer: the more time we spend around each other, the more opportunity I have to be a dumbass and let it slip that I have the hots for him. Which would be bad.

__Why__? you say?

Well, see, there are actually a couple issues.

One: we're both guys. No such a huge deal for him, maybe. Since he was 14, Artie hasn't kept the fact that he goes for dudes a secret. Me, though? I like girls and guys. Thing is, no one knows about that. It's not that I'm... I don't know__, ___ashamed_ or whatever. I just don't know what my folks would think about it. I mean, my mom's a sweetheart and my dad's the coolest guy ever, but they're real conservative, you know? They go to church twice a week, always vote Republican, all that fun stuff. I don't know what they'd think about having a son who's at least half-homo.

Two: I'm 98.3% sure that Artie doesn't exactly return my sentiments. At best, he probably thinks of me as a brother, and I don't think he'd wanna boink his brother. At least I hope not, because if I'm honest his brothers are pretty hot themselves and- YEAH, abandoning that train of thought right there.

So basically, I'm spending most of my time hanging around a guy who I've known for years that I'm most definitely in some degree of love with; a guy who most definitely does not feel the same way about me. If you don't see how that's mega-depressing, you're even slower than Artie likes to say I am.

So far, I've been using a tactic I like to call, "Ignore it and it'll go away eventually," though with the way that's working it looks like "eventually" actually means "never". At this rate I'll probably be left pining after a person I can never be with until the end of my days, at which point I'll die a lonely and bitter death, like in all those sad books my buddy Kiku reads.

__Now Alfred, don't you think you're being over-dramatic? __you say. First of all, you totally sound like Artie when you say that. Second of all, no. No I don't.


	2. Arthur Terrorizes the Cats

**Hey, everyone! Thank you all sooo much for the reviews and favorites! I appreciate it more than you know! -loves on all of you-**

**So, here's the first real chapter of "The Weird Life", which took a bit longer than I thought it would. I actually had a good bit of this written before I realized it wasn't going anywhere and started entirely over. OTL **

**I hope everyone likes this part; all of my love went into it! :D**

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><p><em>Tuesday, 1511/11_

'Kay, so the thing I really love about Tuesdays is that I get off work at 5 o' clock and then don't have to go back 'till Friday. I mean, don't get me wrong or anything, I love my job. Probably as much as a guy _can_ love a job, but I'm not allowed to play XBox or watch TV in the garage, y'know? Which is sometimes what I'd rather be doing than changing oil.

Plus, Artie can't come see me, unless it's a day that Jim isn't there. Jim, you see, is the owner of the place (which is called Jim's Auto Repair, go figure) and he's an awesome boss, but kind of a grumpy dude. He used to get all pissed off when Artie would come by to bring me a soda or whatever, though I don't know why. I guess he thought maybe Artie would fall on one of the cars and dent it or something, which is funny 'cause I don't think Artie weighs enough to dent a car even if he jumped up and down on the hood. Plus he's not prone to falling down, unless he's drunk.

And it really sucks, you know, 'cause video games, TV, and Artie are three out of the five things I like most. The other ones are donuts and aliens.

But anyway, you might be asking why I'm telling you about why I love Tuesdays so much. The answer is: on one Tuesday in the middle of November, I stayed late at the shop and only started walking back to the apartment me and Artie shared around 6-thirty. It was one of those weird days when half the sky is clear and the other half is gray clouds, and you don't really know if it's gonna rain or not, and it was actually pretty chilly whenever the wind blew.

I was in kind of a rush to get back, both 'cause of the weather and 'cause Artie was probably wondering where I was. He doesn't say it- he never actually says what he's thinking (again, unless he's drunk)- but I know he gets worried when I'm really late and he can't get a hold of me, and I'm pretty bad about leaving my cellphone at home, like I did today. The place we live isn't dangerous, but we grew up in the city where you kind of _had_ to be paranoid about running around near dark.

So I hurried the few blocks it was from the shop to the apartment, and got back to the complex in, what, 10 minutes? Maybe even less, 'cause I'm pretty fast for being such a built guy.

Our complex was little, just two brick buildings facing each other from across a black-top parking lot. The one on the left was building A, and the one on the right was building B; me and Artie lived in the right one, up on the third floor in 38B.

I walked past the ugly gray mailboxes that they had sitting out front and got to the foot of the metal stairs that took you to the higher floors. I jumped the first three steps, the rusty ones that creaked and bent when you stepped on them. Probably not all that safe to leave around, but I guess no one was complaining about them, 'cause according to the old lady that lived beside us in 37B they'd been there forever. The rest of the steps were more-or-less A-okay, though, and pretty soon I was at the top of them and turning off into our hallway.

So, I got to our door, right? I took my key out of my pocket and got ready to stick it in the lock when I heard this _sound_ from inside. I couldn't really tell what it was, so I put my ear against the door to hear it better; and whadda ya know, it sounded like fingernails scratching.

My first thought was, _Shit, what if Artie got hurt and couldn't reach his phone so he dragged himself over to the door and has been trying to get out and get help the whole time I've been gone?_ And maybe that's not the most rational thought in the world, but I had it, and it freaked me right out; so I jammed the key in the lock and wiggled it around, then took it out and put it in right-side-up, and pulled the door open as fast as I could.

Well, there was no injured Englishman twitching in the doorway, which was good news. There _was _a streak of orange, brown and white fur that went darting out into the hall and down the stairs, yowling the whole way, though; I watched them go with what was probably a pretty great "WTF?" expression, though I can't be sure, 'cause, y'know. I can't see my own face.

The streak was mine and Artie's cats, in case you couldn't tell. Oliver's a little Scottish fold that Artie's brother gave to him when he moved in, and Hero's my cat, a mix of... something and something else. I'm not really sure, 'cause I found him as a starving kitten in a bush one day about a year ago, but I think he must be at least a little bit Maine Coon, 'cause he's super-fluffy. And big. Did I mention that he's big? 'Cause he is, really big.

Anyway, it was pretty weird for them to go running off like that. Hero didn't usually move that fast, and Ollie never ever wants to go outside; so I figured something was probably up inside, and stepped through the doorway to investigate.

It didn't really take that much investigating to find the reason the cats were getting the hell out of Dodge. Almost as soon as I got into the front hall and closed the door behind me, I got hit with this smell so bad I almost gagged. It smelled like a dead skunk, wrapped in gym socks, that somebody set on fire. (Okay, maybe not _exactly_ like that, but still pretty dang awful.)

I pulled my t-shirt up over my nose and went on- a pretty damn brave thing to do, 'cause the further I went the stronger the smell got. And- oh shit- was that _smoke_ coming from out of the kitchen?

Now I was freaked out again, 'cause where's there's smoke, there's fire, y'know? And fire is generally not a good thing to have inside of an apartment. Plus, I still didn't know where Artie was; he could've been asleep in his room or something, totally unaware of what was happening.

It took exactly every bit of my courage, but I held my breath and heroically charged around the corner and into the kitchen, where-

Oh God, you guys.

It was even worse than I thought.

...Okay, so maybe not worse than a house fire. But still bad.

See, to understand why what I'm about to tell you _is _bad, you have to understand something: when Artie first moved in with me, we sat down together and came up with a list of rules. Things that we both agreed would help us not kill each other while we were sharing a space.

There was stuff on there like "Take turns doing the dishes" and "If you want to listen to music the other person doesn't like, use headphones" and "Take turns cleaning out the litterbox, yes Alfred, that means you, too, even if you think it's 'totally yuck, bro'".

And one of the rules that I put was "ARTHUR IS NOT ALLOWED TO STEP FOOT IN THE KITCHEN W/O SUPERVISION AT ALL TIMES", which he got mad at me for, so I changed it to "ARTHUR ISN'T ALLOWED TO USE THE STOVE AND/OR MICROWAVE W/O SUPERVISION". He got mad at me for that one, too, and told me to stop writing in all uppercase letters. Finally we settled on "Leave all the cooking to Alfred", which is really just a super-nice way to say that UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES IS ARTHUR ALLOWED TO USE THE STOVE AND/OR MICROWAVE WITHOUT SUPERVISION.

The reason for this super-duper important rule, ladies and gentleman, is that horrible things happen when Artie gets his hands on cookware. I first discovered this back in high school, when we were 17, and I stayed over at his house while his parents were on some kind of trip to New Zealand or something. I got woken up by a super loud beeping noise, and when I ran downstairs to see what was going on, I saw Artie standing on a chair trying to shut off the smoke detector above the kitchen doorway while... _something_ popped and sizzled and burned in a frying pan on the stove behind him.

That day sucked.

And now, it looked like I was getting a repeat performance, 'cause standing there at the stove with a giant-spoon-thing in his hand, looking down at a huge pot on the back burner that was spewing steam and smoke, was Artie.

I guess he heard me make a choking sound of despair, 'cause he turned around with a little smile and went, "Oh, hullo Alfred. Where've you been off to?"

I tried to say, "What the in the name of baby Jesus are you doing, you lunatic?" but since I had my shirt over my face and was covering my mouth and nose with my hand it came out, "Wha a da nim uh biby Jees ah you din, you lunatee?" Which made less than perfect sense.

"Speak up, I can't understand you- and why do you have your shirt up?" he said. As if he could really be completely unaware of the smoke and the- the _smell_. But you know, I really think he has some sort of immunity to it. Kind of like how spiders can't be poisoned by other spiders of the same species, 'cause they're immune to their own venom (and don't tell me that's a bad analogy, either, 'cause I'm 98.3% sure that Artie's food is lethal to most mammals). 'Cause let me tell you, guys, that one time when we were 17 and he made what I found out later were supposed to be eggs? He ate them.

_And lived._

So yeah. He probably thought that smell was nice or something. He's kind of batshit crazy like that, and it's pretty cute most of the time, but not right then it wasn't. No siree.

I pointed at the pot behind him- well, more like jabbed my finger at it- and Artie glanced back with a confused face. "What? Oh, the pot? Well, since you were taking so long getting home, I thought I'd make us something to eat."

I- very valiantly- tugged my shirt back down (though I didn't breathe through my nose- I wasn't stupid) and asked, "What is it supposed to be?"

"Spaghetti," he said. He stuck his spoon-thing into the pot and when he pulled it back up, there was a clump of vaguely noodle-shaped black stuff on the end.

I stared at it. He stared at it. He went, "Oh dear," and bent over the stove to look inside the pot.

Well, I figured that wasn't really a safe thing to be doing, what with the smoke blowing in his face and all, so I reached over and pulled him back by his shirt collar (he made a funny little "Hmph!" noise when I did that), then I leaned over and stretched my arm out to turn the dial thingy on the back of the stove and switch the burner off.

For a second we just kind of stood there looking at each other. Then I was all, "You broke the rule." In a super serious voice, too, and I think that surprised Artie 'cause he, well, looked surprised.

"Oh, surely you're not really upset about that," he said.

"No, I totally am."

He made a huffing sound that meant he thought I was being "Ever so silly" (or something like that) and crossed his arms. "Everything was going perfectly fine. Nothing to fuss over."

I tried giving him an "Are you serious?" face, but I guess he didn't catch it, so I said, "Dude, I didn't even know it was _possible_ to burn noodles. Plus, the smoke?" Come to think of it, how did that not set the smoke detectors off? Maybe they were broken. Lame.

Artie scoffed (and the only reason I know that word is because he does it so much that one day I asked him about it). "That was just steam."

"Steam's not black."

I think that stumped him, 'cause he made a mad face at me (he hates it when I win an argument) and blushed a little bit. It was adorable and all, but at that exact moment the smoke alarm in the hall went off. We both jumped about a foot in the air, and I would have laughed except that _goddamn_ that alarm was annoying, so I ran to shut it off while Artie went over to the little window above the sink and pushed it open a couple inches.

After I hit the button and the "**BEEP BEEP BEEP**" cut off, we both looked at each other with straight faces for about half a second before we busted out laughing. Well, I busted out laughing; Artie busted out with reserved chuckles, but that's pretty joyous for him.

When we could talk again without giggling, I said, "And _that's_ why you gotta respect the rules, dude."

He tried to glare at me, but it was kinda ruined by the fact that he was smiling so he gave up. "Come off it, it wasn't anything I did. That pot's obviously defective."

I went, "Uh-huh," grinning. Now that the smell of smoke and- incinerated noodles?- was fading away, I noticed that I was pretty much starving. I fished my wallet out of my pocket and flipped it open to count out how much cash I had. (The answer's "Totally loaded", in case you were wondering. ...Alright, I had a twenty and a ten, but still.) "Tell you what, let me go get changed-" I was still in my oil-smeared work coveralls- "and we'll go out somewhere. Sound good?"

For a split second, a weird look flicked across Artie's face. I couldn't really name it, and then he was smiling again so I forgot it pretty much instantly. He said, "Right, good idea," and then walked over to the stove to get rid of the pot-o'-death. It looked like it was stuck, though, so he started tugging on it really hard, and then all of a sudden it came unstuck and he had to jump backwards so the pot wouldn't land on his toes or anything as it fell off the stove. The half-slimy mass of black noodle-stuff came seeping out all over the floor with a totally gross squelching sound.

I wanted to laugh again, but figured that wouldn't be the best idea if I didn't want Artie to be all pissed at me the rest of the night, so I just bit my lip and ran off to my room. As soon as I got in and shut the door, a really loud stream of cusswords came from the kitchen, and I grinned. That was Artie: proper and reserved until he got mad enough to swear like a sailor with Tourette's. Just one of the many things I loved about him.

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><p>Let me tell you a little something about Arthur Kirkland, boys and girls: He's kind of a hypocrite. Alright, not "kind of". He's a <em>giant, epic<em> hypocrite. He's always getting onto me for things that he turns around and does himself. Take last week, for instance. I'd just got done brushing my teeth, and I guess I left some toothpaste globs in the sink. Well, Artie goes in to do his stuff after me, and as soon as he steps in and sees the sink he makes me come back and wash it off. Fine, whatever. Then, I go back in about 10 minutes later to grab something I'd forgot, and what do I see in the sink? _Toothpaste globs._

I guess it's kind of annoying sometimes, but mostly I just think it's funny. One of the most common ways he likes to- I don't know, hypocricize? Is that even a word? Whatever. One of the most common situations where he proves he's a hypocrite is whenever we go out to eat.

See, back when we were kids and teenagers, Artie never had a problem with swinging down to grab a burger or hotdog or something at a fast-food joint with me. When he went off to England for college, though, he picked up a bunch of odd habits. One of them was that his accent- which was always kind of there, thanks to his parents being English- got a heck of a lot stronger, and he started throwing around British words like I was supposed to know what the hell they meant. Oh, and he started calling the letter "zee" (as in Z), "zed", which was freaking weird. Seriously, what the hell is a "zed"? I mean, we went to kindergarten together! We learned the same dang alphabet song! Sheesh.

Anyway, one of the things he did was start to rip on fast-food places. He'd say things like, "I just do not understand the America fascination with those grease-laden calorie-patties they call Whoppers." Like he wasn't an American, too!

But let me tell you- every single time we go to a McDonald's together (which is, uh, probably more often then than we should), he always orders the same thing: Two Big Mac meals.

_Two._

And he sits there and eats every single bite, and drinks every single drop of his large diet Pepsi, and you know why? _Because McDonald's food is fucking delicious and he knows it._

Then when I call him out on it he'll get all blushy and say, "Well, I don't eat this stuff _consistently_, so it's different!" Right. Keep tellin' yourself that.

Like I said, I don't mind it. I think it's funny, and really cute. Especially since sometimes, even after he eats all that, he'll steal fries from me if he thinks I'm not looking. That's "Oh-my-God-I-just-wanna-hug-you-forever-and-never-let-go"-level adorable right there, but, uh, I can't really do that. 'Cause. Y'know.

Sooo, anyway, after the whole incident with the devil spaghetti, and after I'd changed and Artie got a jacket on, we headed out (to Mickey D's, of course). Artie started to pull the front door shut behind him, but I stuck out my hand and stopped it before it could close all the way. He gave me a weird look and went, "What'd you do that for?"

"The cats ran out screaming earlier. I think you scared them with your, uh, cooking," I said. I left the door open just a crack so they would be able to get back in and pulled on Artie's sleeve to get him to start walking with me. (And before you get all worried or whatever, it's really not such a huge deal to leave your door unlocked or anything where we live; it's a really tiny, crime-free town. Plus we trusted all our neighbors, so it was cool.)

He looked kind of worried at that last comment of mine. "What, even Oliver ran out? Are they okay? Where'd they go?"

I shrugged. "Don't know. Don't worry about it too much, they'll come back."

"I'm more worried for Oliver than Hero; at least Hero goes outside every now and then. I'm not sure Oliver really knows how to..."

"Hero'll take care of him, now come ooooon, I'm starving," I said. Not whined._ Definitely_ not whined.

I still had a hold of his jacket sleeve, so he came along, but he kept looking all around like he was hoping to see them and he didn't stop 'till we were on the sidewalk heading to the restaurant. He was a total worrywart.

Y'know, one good thing about living in a little town instead of a big city is that pretty much everything's within walking distance of everything else. We were at the Mickey D's in just a few minutes, which was good 'cause it was still pretty nippy out and the gray part of the sky had gotten bigger.

When we got inside, I handed Artie some cash and he went up to the counter to order (we both always got the same thing, so he knew what I wanted) and I ran over to get straws and ketchup and stuff. Not literally ran, but... you know.

"Bada ba ba ba, I'm lovin' it," I said as I filled up the little paper cup things with ketchup. And I meant it. I _love_ McDonald's.

"Alfred," I heard behind me. I turned around and saw Artie sitting a tray down on this two-person table by the window. He made a motion with his arm like "Hurry up and come over here", so I put the ketchup cups between my fingers to carry them and hustled back to the table to get with him. Er, join him. To eat.

I got back there and put down all the stuff and sat down. I was popping open my McNugget box when I noticed something kind of... off.

"Hey, Artie?" I said.

"Arthur."

"Whatever. How come you just got a cheeseburger?"

He was about to take a bite when I said that, but he stopped with the burger, like, halfway to his face and his mouth open. It was pretty funny. Then he closed his mouth, put the burger down and cleared his throat like he had something all important to say. I munched a fry.

"Er, yes, I've been meaning to speak with you, Alfred," he said. I made an "Mm-hmm" sound ('cause my mouth was full).

"The thing is... I-I feel a little bit guilty."

I raised my eyebrow at him. (The left one; I can't do the right one.) "Why? About eating a lot? It's okay, you're not gonna get fat or anything."

He shook his head. "No, not that." He sighed all of a sudden, real loud and heavy. "Alright, the truth is, Alfred... I feel rather like I've been taking advantage of your generosity lately. That is, for the whole time we've been living with one another."

I made a confused face at him, 'cause I was pretty confused. "When the hell have I been generous?"

He glared at me, but it was a "stop-being-dense" sort of glare, not a mad one. "Alfred," he went, "for the past month or so you've been paying the rent on the apartment. You've been buying groceries. Appliances. Toiletries. You pay for the cats to go to the vet. You've even been buying me random gifts-"

"Well, duh," I interrupted, and this time Artie gave me an annoyed glare, "I do that stuff 'cause you're my friend. I'd be an asshole if I made you pay for stuff even though you don't have a job."

"That's my point!" he said, kind of loud. This chick behind the counter glanced over at us. "Alfred, I have a degree. I _should_ have a job right now. I _should_ be able to pay my share toward the apartment, and for Oliver, and for my own meals at McDonald's! The fact that I can't is- well, it's frustrating. And embarrassing, and- and it makes me feel terrible."

I munched another fry, this time with ketchup all over it. Yum, ketchup. "So get a job," I said. "If it makes you feel that bad."

He did another one of those heavy sighs. "If it were that easy, I'd already have been employed this whole time."

Uh-oh, good point. I couldn't think of anything to say, so I nibbled at a McNugget.

"Look," he went on, "we agreed from the start that we'd both put money toward food and rent, and I do intend to honor that agreement. So, I'll continue looking for employment, but in the meantime, I just don't feel comfortable spending so much of your money. S-so, even though I do appreciate everything you do, don't buy me any more presents. Or meals. Or really anything more than I need, and when I do get the money I'll pay you back for everything you've already done."

I scoffed (though my scoff was manlier than his were) and went, "Are you kidding? I'm not gonna let you pay me back for anything. I get you stuff 'cause it makes you happy, and I like seeing you happy. Even if I thought you'd never ever get a job I'd still pay for stuff."

After I said that, his eyes went all big and his face turned red. I thought that was weird, and then I ran what I'd just said through my head again and came to the conclusion that, _Oh shit, that was a pretty gay thing to say, wasn't it?_ And then _I_ got all blushy and stuffed my face with a couple nuggets so I wouldn't have to say anything, and all in all it was pretty awkward for a few minutes.

After a while of quiet chewing and avoiding eye contact, Artie piped up again, but I couldn't really hear him so I went, "Huh?"

"I-I said, thank you," he said. He still wasn't looking at me, and his cheeks were still a little pink (which looked pretty good on him). "For what you said. I'm still going to look for work, of course, but... it's nice to know that you have my back. I truly appreciate it."

I laughed- still maybe a tiny bit awkwardly, shut up- and was all, "Come on, dude, I've had your back for 22 years- and I always will."

"I know," he said, and he finally lifted his head up to look at me. He was smiling, and whadda ya know, guys? It was the sweetest damn smile I'd ever seen.

* * *

><p>We spent a lot of time after our Very Awkward Turned Kinda Nice Talk just sitting around gabbing, getting refills on our drinks every now and then to keep the chick behind the counter from giving us dirty looks. (Plus I gave Artie half my fries, which made him blush and look away again.) After a while, though, I noticed that it was dark outside. As in, pitch black. As in, when I looked at the clock on my phone it said "9:43 PM" and <em>damn<em> how did we end up spending more than three hours there?

So we dumped our tray in one of the trash bin things and said "Night" to the counter lady (who didn't look all that broken up to see us go), and finally pushed out through the double doors to start walking back home. I saluted the glowing Golden Arches when we passed them, and Artie slapped me on the arm like he disapproved but then he laughed, and I grinned at him.

A couple blocks from home, though, and those gloomy gray clouds that'd been hanging around all day finally said, "Fuck it," and it started pouring seriously freezing rain, and let me tell you guys, _that does not feel good._

Artie went, "Oh, _bollocks_!" (which I guess is British for "Oh shit") and pulled his jacket hood up. Then, something awesomely cool happened: he actually grabbed my hand, as in, _grabbed it with his own hand_, and started running. While holding my hand.

And I know he just did it to get me to come along so we could get out of the rain faster, but still. His hand was, like, super warm (especially compared to the arctic raindrops), and kind-of-but-not-really-soft, like he had a few calluses that were fading; and it was smaller than mine and his fingers were sort of thin and bony but not unpleasant-bony, and I randomly thought that, _Wow, our hands sure do fit together really great._

And I know, I _know_ that that's an incredibly stupid thought to have, but I couldn't help it. Not when my face was probably firetruck-red and my heart was beating even faster than it usually did when I ran somewhere, and my stomach was doing this weird twisty-fluttery-deal, which could have been 'cause of contaminated nuggets, but somehow I didn't think so.

Plus, Artie's clothes were totally soaked by now and were sticking to his body, and that definitely helped to derail my thinking a little bit.

All good things come to an end, though, which is completely lame. Probably less than a minute later (although, and I know this sounds dumb, it felt like an eternity), we were at our building and jumping up the steps.

When we got to the top, Artie let my hand go and I did the same to his, maybe just the _tiniest_ bit reluctantly. He fell back against the wall and panted for a few seconds, then he looked up at me and laughed, but it came out all breathless. He probably wasn't used to running around like that.

I laughed back, and said, "Fun, huh?"

He stood up straight again and made this crooked little smile at me. "Loads of fun," he said. We started walking down the hall to our door. When we got there, I saw it was open a little bit wider than we'd left it, and sure enough when we got to the living room (leaving our shoes and socks and Artie's wet jacket in a pile by the door), there were the cats, all snuggled up together on the loveseat.

Artie made a happy sound and went over to fuss over them. Hero went, "Meow," a few times and rubbed against Artie's hand, demanding pets, while Ollie just kind of looked at him and then went back to sleep.

"See," I said, "told you they'd be fine." I walked over too and scratched Ollie behind his nubby ears, which got me some soft purring.

Artie sighed. "Yeah. Couldn't help worrying, though." Suddenly he straightened up and stretched with a yawn. "Goodness, it's been a long day. I think I might turn in."

"Seriously? This early?"

"It's not all _that_ early," he went, walking around the sofa toward his room. "And make sure you change out of those wet clothes soon. The last thing we need is you catching pneumonia or something."

"Will do, Mom," I said, giving him a thumbs-up. He glanced back and grinned all crooked at me again.

"Good night, Alfred. I..."

I blinked at him. "Yeah?"

He looked like he really wanted to say something, for a second, but I guess he got over it 'cause he shook his head and went, "Nothing. Good night." And then he walked off to his room without waiting for me to say "Night" back or anything, which was weird.

When I heard his door shut I sighed and sagged against the back of the loveseat (getting it kind of wet, but it'd probably be fine). I took turns petting Hero and Ollie, and asked them really quietly, "What do you think the chances are he was gonna say 'I love you'?"

They just stared at me.

"Thought so," I whispered. I pulled myself up and dragged my feet across the carpet to my room. Then, I had an idea, and went back and scooped the cats up. They squirmed around for a second, but I guess accepted their fate 'cause they let themselves be carried to my bed, where I dumped them while I changed. When I crawled under the blanket, Ollie climbed up on my belly and got comfortable while Hero curled up on my legs.

And, y'know, while I was laying there, looking up at the ceiling in the dark, I couldn't help thinking that it'd be so much better having a certain other person laying beside me instead; cuddled up to my side, maybe with their leg up over mine, or their arm across my chest. But hey, whatever. Cats were fine, too.


	3. Doing the Right Thing Really Blows

**To all my reviewers: Oh my good golly gosh, I love you guys. You don't even know. :D Thank you so much, everyone, for your support and kind words! **

* * *

><p><em>Thursday, 128/2011_

Where me and Artie lived, winter liked to sneak up on you. One day, it'd be in the mid-50's, clear skies and beautiful, and the next- **BAM! **Minus 20 and six feet of snow on the ground.

… Okay, maybe not _that_ bad, but still.

On December the eighth, a little less than a month after the whole McDonald's thing, I went to bed around one in the morning (I was up playing Mercenaries 2 all night). It was plenty cold, in the twenties I think, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky. I woke up at eleven-something, and just laid there on my bed for a while, looking up at the ceiling. I heard footsteps and clinking around in the kitchen, so I figured Artie was already up and making his morning tea (bleh).

There's only so long a guy can just lay around, though, so after a couple minutes when my head wasn't feeling so swimmy from sleep I flailed around to get my blanket off of me. When it was on its rightful place on the floor, I felt a blast of chilly air hit my chest (I sleep in just my boxers, like a boss) and shivered. I rolled over the side of the bed and landed on the blanket- which is luckily super-duper fluffy so it cushioned my fall- and then got up on my feet.

Well, as soon as I stood up, I got an eyeful of the complex's parking lot from out of my window, and whadda ya know? Snow. _Everywhere_.

Seriously, guys, it was coming down like no tomorrow, and when I went over to the window and looked down at the ground better, I saw that there was, like, at _least_ a foot on the ground already. Swear to God.

I got filled with this feeling of joy- I loved snow. I guess it's a leftover from when I was still in school, and snow meant days off to go running around the neighborhood with my buddies, chucking snowballs at each other and generally having an awesome time until my fingers and toes felt like they were gonna fall off. And then, hot chocolate.

Hell yeah. I _looooved_ hot chocolate.

Since time was a-wastin', I ran over to my door to go tell Artie the good news (well, he probably already knew, but still); as soon as I pulled it open and stepped outside, though, I tripped over Oliver- who I guess decided that right outside my door was a great place to curl up and nap- and fell over with a yell of "Owfuckshit."

Ollie made a yowling sound at me, like _I_was the one that did something wrong, and ran off into the living room where he climbed up onto the back of the loveseat. I glared at him, but it didn't look like it had an effect. I don't think cats understand facial expressions all that well.

I rolled over and raised up, then sat there frowning- I'd totally landed on my elbow, and it hurt pretty bad- but then I heard, "Alfred?" I looked up, and there was Artie, standing behind the kitchen counter with a 'WTF?' sort of look on his face. It was kind of funny, 'cause he had one of his eyebrows all scrunched up and the other one was raised, and his brows are _huge_, but l didn't laugh 'cause _dammit_, I had news to tell and plans to make!

"Artie!" I yelled, jumping up. (He started to go, "Don't call me-", but I kept talking.) "Dude, have you looked outside yet?"

"Outside? Oh, do you mean the sn-"

"Hell yeah I mean the snow!" I said. "C'mon, get your jacket, we gotta go!"

His eyes were all big, like he was startled. "Go? Go where? What are you talk-"

"Dude! Get with it! We have to go to the store and get gloves and boots and stuff!"

"Why do we-"

"'Cause we can't play in the snow without boots and gloves!"

"Play in th-"

"Yeah dude, hurry up!"

"Alfred, I'm not-"

Since I figured he was just gonna stand there gibbering forever if I didn't make him get a move-on, I went behind the counter and grabbed his sleeve to try and pull him towards his room. Y'know, to get dressed. He made a spluttering sound, which made me laugh, but then he slapped my hand off his arm and wriggled away from me, which wasn't so funny. I turned around to give him my best 'Aw Artie don't be a total fun-killer' talk, but I stopped with my mouth open when I saw the look he was giving me. It was, in fact, _The_ Look; that look he gave me whenever he was super dead serious and, as he said, 'absolutely not in the mood for any nonsense'. And when Artie uses The Look, you stand there and listen to him, or else. (I'm not sure what 'or else' is, but I'm _really_ not curious enough to try and find out.)

So I snapped my mouth shut and settled for a pout instead. He kept staring at me for a while, like he was making sure I was actually gonna shut up, and then he went, "I can't go and run around in the snow, Alfred." I opened my mouth to say, "How come?" but he held up his hand and I went all silent again. "I've already made plans with somebody else for today."

That was news to me. "What plans? Who with? You never told me anything about it."

He gave me a - what was the word?- disgruntled look. "Since when do I have to inform you of every move I make?" Then, his phone, laying on the counter beside his mug of tea, vibrated and the screen lit up. He walked over and flipped its cover open, and after a few seconds started thumb-typing something. When he was done he snapped it back shut and sat it down. "I'll be heading out of here around noon to meet him, and I don't expect to be back until late."

"How late's 'late'?"

For a second he looked like he wanted to tell me it wasn't any of my business, but then he sighed and said, "Probably not until eight or nine. We're heading into the city and we'll be spending most of the day there."

Not back until _eight or nine_? Well, now I was feeling hella put-out. There I was all excited to have some terrific fun time with my, um, friend, and then he has to go stomping all over my happiness. He'd been acting weird since that night in November, telling me less and doing stuff without me, though before it'd always been by himself. What the hell was he even going to do in the city? Who was he going with? How come he didn't tell me about it until now? And, yeah, I knew he didn't have to tell me every time he did something without me, but he usually did anyway; I didn't like the secretiveness.

Then something occurred to me, and, let me tell you guys, it wasn't very nice. Artie had said that he was going to met 'him'. 'Him', as in, another guy. And Artie- who likes guys an awful lot, if you'll remember- had said that they were going to be spending all day together. So...

… What if it was a date?

Well, when I thought that, my belly got all icy and my lungs kind of shrivelled up. It felt totally crazy. Artie, who I guess took me not saying anything as us being done talking, walked past me toward his room saying, "I suppose I'll go get changed, then."

He was in his room and about to pull the door shut when I finally got the balls to turn around and ask, "Haha, is this guy you're meeting your boyfriend or something?" (I tried to make it sound like I was kidding around, but maybe my voice came out a little bit weirdly high-pitched... maybe.)

He paused with the door only a crack open and gave me a funny look, like he didn't really know what to say, and his cheeks got all pink. Then he glared and said, "None of your business," and slammed the door shut.

I stood there, staring at where his face was a second ago, and did not feel one bit happy.

* * *

><p>Let me tell you a little story, ladies and gents.<p>

When we were 15 years old, at the beginning of our sophomore year in highschool, Artie got this gigantic, massive crush on this guy named Trevor; Trevor was a couple years above us, a total English-whiz kid and one of the only openly gay dudes at our school. And when I say _gigantic, massive_ crush, I'm really not exaggerating; every single time Artie even caught sight of the guy from across the lunchroom or something, he'd get all blushy and fidget with his hair and be all, "Oh my God, is he looking over here? Is he?"

I thought it was supremely funny, and every chance I got I'd tease him about it (which made him _super_ mad). 'Cause, I mean, come on. Even back when we were kids, Artie was one of the most serious guys I knew; he liked to put on what he called a 'respectable face', which pretty much meant that he acted as uptight as humanly possible. So seeing him swooning over some guy, freaking out about how he looked and stammering with his face beet-red was just _hilarious_.

This went on for a while, and for a while I mean the first two terms of the school year. That's 18 weeks, people. Then, one day in January (to quote a certain prince), "my life got flipped, turned upside down."

See, what happened was, I was up in mine and Matt's room working on a model plane one Saturday (shut up, it's not geeky) when I heard someone banging on the front door downstairs. My family was out (my mom and dad were at work and Mattie was at hockey practice), so I got up and hopped down the stairs to go answer it. The person was seriously not letting up with the knocking, so when I got to the hallway I went, "Jesus, I'm coming, chill out!"

From the other side I heard a muffled, "Alfred, I have something important to tell you, open up!" It was Artie. He sounded really excited, too, so I figured it was something pretty sweet and went as fast as I could to undo the locks on the door. When I opened it up, I saw him standing on the porch; his face was all red and he was breathing really heavy, and his hair was even messier than it usually was (which is saying something). Over his shoulder, I saw his bike laying in the yard, so I guessed that he'd rode over to my place really fast to tell me whatever it was.

I stepped over to the side to let him in, and he came practically floating through the doorway and into the hall. He looked around the corner into the kitchen, then into the living room, and went, all breathless, "Are your parents out?"

"Yep."

"And Matthew?"

"Yeah- why?"

He turned around to look at me, and he was beaming. "I've done it," he said.

I blinked, confused. "Done what? Are you okay?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Artie this openly happy.

He unzipped his jacket and squirmed out of it. Then he walked into the living room, throwing it over the back of the couch before he flopped down onto one of the cushions. I followed him in there, still waiting for him to say something, but he just looked at me like he was really enjoying keeping me in suspense. "Well?" I said. "Spill already."

He gave me another big grin and said, "I asked him out."

"You- what?"

"I asked him out- Trevor Mason, that is," he said. "I saw him at the library today, and we both reached for the same book, and then we started talking- a-and, I honestly don't know what came over me- but I asked him if he wanted to go see a movie next weekend, and he said yes!" He said that last part all in one breath, in a really excited way, like he couldn't believe it himself. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were still pink, but I think it was from being either embarrassed or happy.

I was seriously shocked. I don't even know why- I mean, Artie liked guys, of _course _he was gonna get a date with one someday, I knew that- but to actually have it happening was... strange. That was the only word I could think of for it.

I was feeling something else, too- a weird sensation in my chest like all of a sudden my lungs were too small, and like my stomach had shrivelled up. When I didn't say anything for a while, the smile faded off Artie's face and he started fiddling with this piece of loose thread on the arm of the couch, and we fell into a tense silence.

"Sorry," he said after a minute. He looked back up at me. "That doesn't weird you out, does it? Hearing about... you know, other guys and me?"

"What?" I said. "No way, that's not..." But I didn't know what to say. I wasn't grossed out, but I definitely wasn't happy for him like I should've been. Thing was, I couldn't really explain _why_ I wasn't happy for him; why, instead of being all supportive like a best friend _should _be, I was standing there feeling like something bad had happened. I didn't understand why that feeling in my chest was there, or what it was, and I was hella confused.

It seemed like Artie wasn't all that reassured by my reassurance, 'cause he got up off the couch and turned his back to me to grab his jacket and slip it on. "Sorry," he said again. "I shouldn't've come here, shouldn't've told you- I'll just go." He started walking off without even glancing back, his movements jerky.

"Artie!" I yelled after him, upset. "Dude, hang on, don't leave, I'm not-"

He spun around and looked at me. "Not what, Alfred?" I sort of expected him to be glaring, or at least sound mad, but he didn't; more like... hurt, I guess. "Not weirded out? Because that's what it looks like. You know, when I first told you I- that I'm gay, you told me you were okay with it-"

"I _am _okay with it!"

"-but apparently you're only okay with me _saying _that I am; as soon as I start acting it, suddenly you think it's gross? That's-"

I interrupted, saying loudly, "Alright, dude, you need to chill out, that's not how it is!"

"Then how _is _it?"

Well, since I didn't exactly know myself 'how it is', I didn't have a reply ready. Artie was standing there with his arms crossed, looking like he really wanted an answer, though, so I just started talking: "Look, it's not that it's you and another guy; I seriously don't care about that, okay? I don't think it's weird, or gross, or whatever. _Really_," I said when he gave me an unconvinced look. "You _know _I've never ever had a problem with that."

He stared at me for a few seconds, like he was trying to judge how honest I was being. Finally, he uncrossed his arms and said, "Then why did you react that way when I told you about Trevor Mason?"

What was I supposed to say? Somehow, I didn't think he would understand my chest-feelings any more than I did, and might even think that they _were _feelings of disgust after all and storm off. Sooo... I lied. Shrugging, I went, "I just... Trevor Mason? Really? Isn't he an ultra-nerd or something?"

Artie's eyes bugged out in surprise- it was pretty funny- and then he said loudly, "What, you're upset about me dating Trevor because you think he's a _nerd_?"

"Ultra-nerd," I said weakly.

For a second I though he was gonna go off ranting again, but then out of nowhere he started _laughing_. I don't mean his usual laugh, either- no, these were huge, borderline-crazy giggles. I was all dumbstruck by the mood whiplash, when he did something even _nuttier_: he actually came up, put his arms around my shoulders- and **hugged me**.

It was like getting punched right in the gut- just, all of a sudden, every single part of my body was hot and cold at the same time. I felt my stomach do three consecutive cartwheels before settling in a lump so heavy it seemed like I'd swallowed a concrete block. My heart went batshit, speeding up until I was absolutely sure it was just gonna _pop_right out of my chest and onto the floor, and suddenly, my skin was hyper-alert to the sensation of the weight of Artie's arms on my shoulders, and the feel of his hair brushing against my neck and jaw. Numbly, automatically, my arms went up to circle around his back and then I stood there, stock-still, while my internal organs had fits.

"I should have known it would be something silly like that," Artie said, and his breath tickled where it blew across my cheek. "You're just not that kind of person, are you?"

I gulped. "N-not what kind of person?"

"Judgmental. Hateful. That kind of thing," he said. He pulled back to look me in the eye- but he still kept his arms around me, _Jesus Christ why_- and smiled. "Thanks, Alfred. And I'm sorry for jumping down your throat like that, I just thought..."

"Nah, don't worry about it, " I said, pulling on a grin. He finally- _finally_- let go of me and took half a step back. My heart chilled out a little, but I kind of suspected that my face was completely red; Artie didn't seem to notice, though, and if he did he didn't say anything.

"Well," he went, "er, that's all I really came over for. Too bad what you think of Trevor- n-not that it makes any difference to me what you think about him, don't get the wrong idea- but... you'll come around, once you get to know him more. He's a good person; I really like him."

"Uh-huh. Sure," I said, trying to make my tone bright and not let him in on the fact that those last four words (for some reason) felt like a kick to the nuts. Metaphorically speaking. "Hey, uh, listen, I was kind of busy with something before you came over, so..."

"Oh, right," he said. "I, er, had actually planned to be somewhere as well, I just thought, you know, I'd stop by so you could be the first to know. About Trevor and me."

"Yeah," I said, kind of ushering out into the hallway toward the door. "Great. See you Monday, 'kay?" I wanted to get him out of there as soon as possible; I needed time to, I don't know, sort through all those weird feelings that'd just sprung up out of nowhere, and since it seemed like he was the source of them, I couldn't do that with him there.

He pulled open the door and stepped out onto the porch; right before I pushed it shut behind him, though, he turned back with another smile and said, "Bye, Alfred," and my stomach did another flip.

"Bye," I muttered, and slammed the door closed.

I heard his footsteps walking across the porch and down the steps, then the sound of frosted grass crunching as he walked over to his bike. When the sound of wheels turning had faded away, I smooshed my hot face against the cold door for a second before turning around and heading upstairs.

I spent the next couple hours alternating between trying to distract myself with comic books and laying back on my bed, staring at the wall and ceiling and thinking. Around three in the afternoon, I heard the sound of a key twisting in a lock downstairs, and a half a second later the front door opened. I turned my head toward the bedroom doorway, and a little bit afterwards Mattie appeared there, still in his practice jersey and nose all red and runny from the cold.

He looked like he was about to come in (well, duh, why would he walk up to the entrance if he wasn't gonna _enter_?) but stopped when he saw me. He raised one of his eyebrows and opened his mouth- I guess he was gonna ask me what was wrong- but I beat him to it, asking, "Matt, what's it mean when, whenever you get close to a person, your heart starts beating really fast and your stomach flips, and you blush a lot, and you get pissed off when you find out that they're dating someone else?"

Mattie looked confused- no wonder, I probably would be if he'd asked me that- but finally he said, "Well, that sounds like it's love, doesn't it?"

I looked back up at the ceiling. "Yeah," I said. "Yeah, it does."

* * *

><p>See, you guys, that's my problem: I never realize what something's worth to me until I can't have it anymore. I never loved any of my goldfish until I had to flush them; I didn't care about football until I broke my arm and had to sit out most of a season; and I didn't realize that I had it bad for my best friend until after he started going out with someone else.<p>

Artie and Trevor ended up dating for the rest of that year and the summer- then, since Trevor was going off to Oregon for college and neither of them wanted a long-distance relationship, they split up. For the- what was it?- seven months that they were together, I was under pretty much constant torture. Every time I saw them kissing or holding hands, every time Artie went to sit with him at lunch instead of me, every day he went over to Trevor's house instead of mine... Well, it sucked.

Did I ever think about just telling Artie about how I felt? Yeah, plenty of times, especially after they broke it off. But, y'know, I was worried about a lot of stuff. What if he just didn't like me that way? What if he thought it was weird of me to ask and stopped hanging out with me? And then, what if he _did_ say yes? I didn't want to have to deal with assholes getting on my case for being with another dude, or disappoint my parents. So, I kept quiet; and, like I said, after we went our separate ways after graduation, I didn't think about it so much.

Now, though, I kind of felt like I was in the same boat as sophomore year: jealous over some guy even when I knew I didn't really have a right to be. Only now, the stakes were sort of higher; what if Artie and that guy fell in love? What if he wanted to move out and go live with with him? What if they got married and me and Artie drifted apart for good? (And, yeah, I realized that maybe those were stupid things to think about, considering that I didn't even know for sure that they were dating at all; but hey, I was distraught.)

After Artie left to go meet with his mystery man, I flopped down on the couch and sulked for about five minutes before hunger compelled me to go make some Hot Pockets. As I was hunched over in front of the microwave in the kitchen, watching the glowing green numbers tick down to 00:00, I noticed something. It was Artie's cell phone, laying where he'd put it on the counter earlier. I had to smile a little bit; Artie was always leaving stuff behind. Then, the microwave beeped, and I was busy trying to pick up my food without burning my fingers for a minute.

Later, standing there, munching on my delicious ham and cheese, I had a sudden, brilliant idea. That person that Artie was texting earlier... what if it was the guy he was going to the city with? And if it was, then all I had to do to find out whether they _were _together, and who he was, was... But no. There was no way I could go snooping around on Artie's phone- I mean, even if him keeping stuff from me rubbed me the wrong way, I couldn't just blatantly invade his privacy like that.

… But on the other hand, I really really really wanted to know.

I stared at the phone, the hand that wasn't holding my Hot Pocket hovering barely an inch above it. It was a really tense minute and a half that I spent debating myself over the pros and cons of being nosy _just this once_.

And I think it's a testament to our friendship that, in the end, I left the phone where it was and went off to watch Phineas and Ferb instead.

* * *

><p>As it turns out, Artie is a big fat liar. Instead of getting back home at eight or nine, like he said, he wasn't back until <em>eleven-thirty<em>.

I couldn't bring myself to be mad, though. Even though I'd spent most of the last ten hours wallowing in my own misery thanks to that guy, I'd still missed him. So when I heard the door open, then shut, I sat up on the loveseat (that I'd been sprawled across pretty much the whole day) and watched over the back as he came down the hallway, kicking off his shoes as he went. He was kind of staring down at his feet most of the way, but when he got into the living room he looked up and jumped when he noticed me glaring at him.

"Jesus Christ, Alf-"

"You're late," I said in the sternest voice I could come up with. For a second he glared back and looked like he wanted to argue, but then he made this weird sound that was, like, halfway between a groan and a sigh.

"Yes," he said, "I got held up a little longer than I'd intended. Then, you know, bad roads and all." He pulled off his gloves and coat and dumped them in a heap by the closet. "I really did try to get back sooner."

"Mm-hmm," I said while I watched him walk around the counter into the kitchen. He pretty much ran for his electric tea kettle and filled it up with water from the tap. I raised my eyebrows. "Don't you think it's kind of late to be drinking tea?"

He snorted as he clicked it on. "It's this or alcohol. I need a drink of some sort after the kind of day I've had."

I sat up a little straighter._That _was interesting information. "Oh, your date not go well?" I tried to keep my voice casual; not sure if I succeeded or not.

Either way, Artie shot me a half-hearted scowl and went, "It _was not _a date."

"It wasn't?" I asked. "'Cause, earlier, when I asked you about it, you didn't exactly deny it."

He looked away again. "Ah, well," he went, scratching his head, "I was being ambiguous on purpose; I was a bit cross with you for being annoying." He gave me a questioning look. "Why are you so concerned about whether it was a date or not, anyway?"

Well, to that question I didn't really have a good response (or at least not one that wouldn't give me away), but I forgot about answering when I noticed something about Artie.

"Hey," I said, "why are your eyes all red? You been crying?" Now that he was in a better light, I could see that his eyes had a little bit of redness in the corners, and the area all around them was puffy. (His nose was red, too, but hey, whose wasn't in winter?)

For a second, he looked almost surprised, and one of his hands went to his face where he made like he was going rub his eyes, but he pulled away just before it touched. Then the surprised look disappeared and he just seemed tired again. "I haven't been crying, idiot," he said- I didn't get mad at the 'idiot' because he's been calling me that for so long I think it's just a habit now, and not a real insult- "the wind and snow kept blowing in my face when I was walking up here, and I guess it made my eyes irritated. Nothing to fuss over."

Huh. Made sense. I said, "'Kay. You should pull your hood up or something next time."

He made a little sound of agreement before leaning his head on his hand and staring over at the muted TV. I don't think he was even seeing what was on the screen, though; he seemed really out of it. Must have been a seriously shitty day. Suddenly he went, "You should be in bed; you have work tomorrow," still with his eyes on the TV.

I thought about it for a minute. "Nah," I said, finally, "I have a better idea."

He turned his face back towards me and said, "Do you?"

"Yeah," I went, getting up off the loveseat and walking over to the counter. I put my elbows on it and rested my head in one of my hands, like he was. He raised an eyebrow. "How about I call in sick tomorrow and we go catch a movie or something instead?"

He looked at me- what was the word?- incredulously. "Alfred, you can't just skip work like that."

"I'm not skipping," I said, "I'm sick. Jim'll understand."

He still didn't look sold. "That's dishonest. Besides, the closest theater is miles away- and expensive. I can't let you-"

I groaned. "Dude, don't you get by now, I don't care about paying for stuff for you. I like doing it. And it's only, like, what? Seven bucks a ticket?"

He blushed and looked down and to the side. He always got kind of embarrassed when anything about money came up; even though it'd been nearly a month since our talk, and he didn't protest every single time I got him something anymore, I could still tell it bothered him being broke. "Fourteen dollars is a decent amount on a single income," he muttered.

"Yeah," I said, "but I don't really care, so you shouldn't." He gave me an unconvinced face. I pouted. "Come _on_, Artie, when was the last time we went out and did something cool together? Freaking senior year? Stop worrying about everything so much and just come have some fun with me!"

He got a look on his face, then, guys. His eyes kind of half-lidded, like he was sleepy (which he probably was), and he bit his lip and scrunched up his eyebrows. It was either an expression of indecision or he was about to start bawling, and since Artie wasn't normally prone to busting up at the suggestion of hanging out with me I was banking on the first one.

"Come ooooon," I said.

There was a moment of silence- the tense kind; the kind where you're waiting on an answer you know you probably ain't gonna like. 'Cause let me tell you, guys, from the way his face was, I was fully expecting him to say something like, "No, can't do it, sorry. Off to bed now, toodle pip."

That's why I was plenty surprised (in a good way) when instead he went, "Well, if you're absolutely sure that you won't get into trouble with your boss... Then yes, I think I'd like that."

My mouth dropped open. "Huh? Really?"

He glanced at me, looking embarrassed. "I just- I mean, you're right; it has been a long time since we took a day to do something together. I-I rather miss it, to be perfectly honest. And if you don't mind paying, then, well... why not?"

It took me a second to digest what he'd said, but when I did I could feel myself start to grin practically ear-to-ear. "Awww, Artie," I said, "that's so sweet." (I was only half-teasing; it really was sweet.)

He went red and glared at me. "Shut it. And call me by my proper name, for goodness' sake. And," he turned his head to glance at the clock above the stove, "go to bed anyway. It's almost midnight, and I don't want to have to deal with a zombie tomorrow."

I pulled a face. "S'not _that _late. I stayed up 'till one last night."

"And you didn't get out of bed until near noon," he shot back. "I'll be going, too, after my tea, so don't whine to me about how it's unfair you have to go to bed when I get to stay up."

I snapped my mouth shut (how did he know that's what I was gonna say?) and settled for a pout. "Fine, I'll go. 'Night," I said, but before I left I saw Artie's cell out of the corner of my eye, still laying on the counter where he'd left it earlier. "Oh, hey, dude, you forgot your phone here again." I pointed to it.

His eyes followed to where my finger was pointing, and then, for some reason, his face totally drained of color and he snatched the phone up, quick as anything. "I- I _left_this here?" he asked (which I thought was a weird thing to say, 'cause, yeah, obviously he did if it was still on the counter). His flicked his eyes back up at me, looking worried. "You didn't go reading anything on here while I was gone, did you?"

Well, I got a little tingle of guilt in my stomach when he asked that, because I _almost _did, but I answered completely honestly when I said, "No, of course not."

He looked _super _relieved at that, sticking the phone in his jeans pocket and sighing quietly. I thought about asking what was on there that had him so concerned, but before I could he had his back to me and was walking over to his kettle to start making his tea. I took that as a hint that he probably wouldn't want to discuss it, so with a little mental shrug I went, "'Kay then, 'night, Artie."

He looked over his shoulder at me briefly. "Good night, Alfred. Sleep well."

"Yep, you too," I said, already walking over to my bedroom door. When I was inside, and had the door shut behind me, I sagged against it and let out a little breath. I was still baffled by the phone thing, and still, you know, hopelessly in love with someone didn't feel the same, but right then I couldn't make myself care about either of those. All my other feelings (except tiredness, 'cause I was starting to feel the effects of being up for 13 hours) were pretty much completely drowned out by the relief of knowing that, no, Artie wasn't seeing anyone, and the happiness and excitement of knowing that he'd agreed to go out with me tomorrow- even if it was only as friends.

For the first night in a long, long time, I went to bed with a smile on my face.

**Next chapter:** Artie and Al go have their totally-not-a-date, and something life-changing happens.


End file.
